


Hard To Find

by accioromulus



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Non-Magical, Get Together, M/M, MWPP Era, Marauders, Marauders AU, Modern AU, Non-magical AU, Road Trip
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-01
Updated: 2014-12-08
Packaged: 2018-02-15 19:04:57
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 12,820
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2240022
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/accioromulus/pseuds/accioromulus
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The air conditioning is already broken, Sirius's back has been effectively glued to the leather seat via sweat, and this road-trip may have been a Very Bad Idea.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> So, here it is! The whole thing is largely already completed, just in the editing stages, so it won't end up abandoned or anything. It should end up being around five or six chapters. Anyway, I hope you enjoy it!

 

The air conditioning is already broken, Sirius's back has been effectively glued to the leather seat via sweat, and this road-trip may have been a Very Bad Idea. 

James is flopped across the passenger seat, limbs reaching haphazardly in every direction, dark, wild hair pasted to his forehead. Peter reaches between the seats to wiggle the volume dial. "Remus is sleeping." He explains, lowering the volume a few notches. Sirius glances in the rear view mirror, and yes, Remus is indeed asleep, his chin bobbing gently against his chest. He cut his hair a bit shorter at the end of term, and in the heat, it’s usual gentle waviness has been greatly exacerbated; it stands up all around his head, as if it means to escape. In truth, Sirius prefers it this way.

James opens a single eye to frown blearily at Peter. 

"Peter," he rasps. An escaped mass of hair flops into James' eyes, but he marches bravely on, despite temporary blindness. "When I die of heat stroke, I give you permission to discard my body and assume the position of shot gun."

"Forcibly removing your dead body from this car sounds like a lot more trouble than it's worth." Sirius comments, tapping his thumb against the wheel absently. 

"I suppose we would have to, sooner or later. The smell of your decomposing innards would overpower us all." Peter points out, still hanging in the space between the two front seats. 

"The smell of you is _already_ overpowering me." Sirius says. The front of James' white school shirt is dark with sweat. Sirius' neck is stiff, and his eyes are beginning to ache with the never-ending yellow fields they've been driving through for the past two hours. 

"Pete, can you drive?"

"Sure." 

Sirius pulls them into the shoulder and peels himself off the drivers seat. The air is utterly still, dead with humidity. This heat-wave has permeated Britain's countryside for the last month, ruthless and inescapable, and the four of them are directly within its clutches. 

“If it’s going to be this bloody hot,” James had pointed out, “We may as well find a beach to die at.”

And so they had set out for Drutherford Beach, a good two days drive away in Peter’s Oldsmobile. With its chipped paint, dents, and inability to start on every third try, it was more of a tragedy than an actual vehicle—Peter, however, was the only one among them who owned his own car, and therefore the only vehicle they saw fit to risk.

 

Sirius' back makes several grimace-inducing noises as he stretches his arms over his head. Peter has already clambered into the drivers seat, pulling the seat closer to the wheel and fiddling with the mirrors. James is a pitiful, sweating heap of spaghetti limbs next to him, and Remus continues to barely maintain a vertical position.

“We are pathetic,” Sirius frowns at James through the window. James waves this comment away with a limp wrist.

“What are you expecting? It’s too hot, and it’s too early.” He peers at Sirius through a single puffy eye.

“I’ve never seen you so attractive, Prongs.” Sirius drawls, leaning against the roof. James’s left eyebrow twitches, as if he’s thought of  a clever retort, but the energy it would take to actually express it verbally is beyond his current capacity.

“Let’s go,” Peter suggests good-naturally, fiddling with the gear-shift.

Sirius slides into the back seat, and Peter pulls them back onto the highway, ignoring the car’s disapproving coughs. Next to him, Remus's head falls back, exposing the long line of his throat. His lips are slightly parted, breath coming in little puffs that shift the sandy hair along his forehead. 

Sirius swallows and stares with determination at the back of James' head. 

It's too bloody hot. 

 

 

Sirius spends the next several hours with his head half-out the window in an attempt to stave off the heat. At some point, Peter unearths a near-ancient mix-tape from somewhere near the bottom of the car, and once Remus is successfully badgered into wakefulness, the four of them participate in an incredibly loud, raucous, and terrible sing-along that consumes the better part of an hour. More than once, Sirius catches Remus' eyes, crinkled green and yellow with happiness in the setting sun, and Sirius has to look away. 

 

“Moony,” Sirius says some time later, prodding Remus with his big toe. He’s sitting now so that he’s facing Remus directly, their legs pulled up onto the seat and tangled with one another. Sirius has been trying to decide for the last twenty minutes if this is acceptable behaviour for a boy who’s interested in another boy, and trying very hard not to be. He has yet to reach a conclusion.

“Padfoot,” Replies Remus, eyes never leaving his book. The cover is a deep burgundy, the title scrawled across it in gold lettering.

“Is that book really more interesting than us?”

Remus flips a page, making a little _Mm_ noise.

Sirius glances at James, or rather the back of James’s head, the angle of which indicates his current state of unconsciousness. Next to him, Peter’s eyes are glazed, focused solely (Sirius hopes) on the road ahead.

He prods Remus again, and this time, Remus glances up—a triumph.

“What?”

“When I agreed to this road trip, I was promised adventure and life-changing experiences. I was promised soul searching.” He waves a hand, indicating all three of them. “Instead, I get you lot.”

Remus’s mouth quirks.

“This isn’t On The Road, Padfoot.”

“But it could be. Let’s ditch them and pick up Kristen Stewart.”

“I _knew_ you didn’t read the book. I shouldn’t have helped you with that essay.”

“Between Sparknotes and film, I hardly think actual literature is necessary any more.”

“If there was no literature, what would you distract me from?”

“Good lord, what would you do with your time?” Sirius gapes. “Knit cardigans? Drink tea?”

“I suppose I would actually have to _have fun_.”

“Yes, it’d do you some good.”

Remus smiles, eyes dropping down to his book again.

“No,” Says Sirius firmly. “Moony, come on. Let’s have a chat.”

Remus glances at him.

“A chat?” Remus’s eyebrows are at a distinctly skeptical angle. “About what?”

“Dunno,” There’s a pause. “What’s your book about?”

“Prostitutes.” Says Remus smoothly, before raising his voice. “James, I think I’d like shot-gun now.”

“Sorry,” Sirius says over Peter’s noise of confusion. “Prongs is in a permanent state of hibernation at the moment. You’ll have to do with me.” 

Remus’s mouth is a slim line, but his eyes are laughing. 

“How unfortunate.” He closes his book, though a finger keeps his place. Sirius looks on hopefully. “I’ll make you a deal, then. Give me ten more minutes with this,” He indicates the book. “And then you can have me for the next...”

“Hour.”

“Half-hour.”

Sirius huffs.

“Yes, alright. Get on with it then.”

 

Just as the sky begins to fade into a wash of pinks and deep purples (or just as Sirius has lost all feeling in his left leg), they pass a sign that proclaims: "Welcome to Harrisford!"

James turns in his seat to face them. His hair has dried considerably, though it stands up in several new and unusual directions, and his handsome, angled face is shiny in some places. 

"What if we stayed here tonight? In some shitty motel, I mean. We're ahead of schedule, and if I spend another night in this car, my spine will collapse."

"Yes," Says Sirius, straightening in his seat. The temptation of a pillow, and more importantly, a _shower_ , is irresistible. 

"And it won't be too much if the four of us split it." Remus adds. Peter agrees, and they turn into the first motel they come across not ten minutes later.

 

It certainly isn't The Hilton, but there's two double beds, and a shower, and a television with twelve channels. Sirius throws himself face-first onto the itchy comforter, sighing happily. 

"Bed," he points out to Remus, who deposits his thread-bare book-bag, the book-bag he's had as long as Sirius has known him, onto the small table next to the telly. 

Remus' mother and father are not wealthy, but they’re warm, and they love their son deeply. The Lupins live in a small cottage on the outskirts of the English countryside, and for Sirius, it’s filled with happy summer memories. Scuffed knees, swimming in the small lake nearby, the massive swing Remus' father had strung up for them when they’d been twelve, which could fit all four of them if they squished.

Sirius vividly remembers Remus' hips digging into his own, one tanned, freckly arm draped over his shoulder, Remus' slightly hoarse, gentle laugh in his ear. 

 

In truth, he’s always been at least a little in-love with Remus Lupin. 

 

With a cackle, James lands on Sirius back with such force that all of Sirius' breath rushes out of him like a bark. He rasps threats and insults, but with no breath, they sound less intimidating than he’d planned. James' wriggles around on-top of him, and Sirius is laughing and cursing breathlessly beneath him, trying and failing to extricate himself. James shouts Peter's name, and Sirius only has time to yelp, "NO!" Before Peter's stomach is crushing his legs. Sirius feels several internal organs shift inside him as James mercilessly rolls along his back. He implores Remus for help, but Remus, the traitor, just grins back. There is much shouting and swearing, and just as Sirius nearly succeeds in strangling James, there's a grumpy pounding on the wall from their neighbour. With much snickering, they disentangle.

"I do wish you would stop embarrassing me in front of out esteemed neighbours." Remus comments over his shoulder as he disappears into the bathroom, expertly dodging the pillow James throws at him.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is their ritual.

It takes about twenty seconds for James and Sirius to decide that getting uproariously drunk in their shitty motel room is a Very Good Idea, and immediately set off in search of provisions. James nearly kills them turning into the parking lot of the nearest plaza, and Sirius's ribs are still throbbing from where Peter elbowed him. They wander the liquor store, comparing prices. James flirts smoothly with the cashier, and nearly kills them again on the return trip to the hotel. Sirius alternates between sipping his beer and shrieking along to the crackling radio, James shouting and grinning along with him, and all-in-all, Sirius feels really, stupidly happy. 

 

"We've brought provisions." Sirius announces as they burst through the door. Remus and Peter are sitting on one of the beds, battling with the telly via remote. James tosses Remus a beer, who catches it deftly, and hands the remote to Peter with a shrug. Peter mashes buttons, though it is with the air of a person who is used to being defeated by technology. 

"Television doesn't work," He frowns, waving the remote around. James sets the twelve packs heavily onto the table.

"I suppose we'll just have to talk to each other." Sighs Remus, cracking open the beer and taking a sip. His Adam's apple bobs as he swallows, eyes closed. Sirius drains the rest of his beer.

“When we get to that beach,” Mumbles Peter from the bed, sniffing at his shirt with a defeated slant to his eyebrows, “I am going into that ocean, and I am never coming out.”

“I’ll miss you, Pete,” Remus assures him, who has left the bed and is now rummaging through his book-bag. 

“But we must persevere.” Says James from the bathroom, where he is attempting to tame his hair. Sirius knows a lost cause when he sees one; he genuinely suspects it’s grown around two inches today alone. “Though, I would appreciate it if you left us the car to, y’know, get back home.”

“Nonsense. Walking builds character.” Sirius says. “Carrying Moony and I will put some meat on your bones, anyways, Potter.” He glances at Remus. “Well, carrying me, anyway.” 

Remus snorts, pulling his shirt over his head and dropping it by his feet. His jeans are slung low on his hips, the band of his boxers peeking out, and Sirius decides he needs to wash his face or brush his teeth or something, probably. He retreats to the bathroom, ignoring the pull just beneath his navel.

“Are you done yet?” He snaps at James, who blinks at him.

“What’s got your nickers in a twist?”

“Nothing,” Sirius says, and silently congratulates himself on managing to trim the bite in his words. “Just wanted to..” He swallows, casting around for an excuse. “.. to brush my teeth.”

James raises an eyebrow at him. He tilts his head, squinting out at the hall behind Sirius. Something flashes across James’s eyes, and Sirius bites down on his irritation.

“All yours, mate.” 

 

*****

 

Sirius is three beers in and going strong, hardly able to breathe around his laughter.  In-front of him, James is doing a glorious impression of Peter's mother, while Peter is caught somewhere between instinctual defense of the woman who gave him life, and the sheer hilarity that is the accuracy of his impression. James, looking ridiculous with two pillows stuffed up his shirt and his glasses balanced precariously on the end of his nose, pauses his wailing every so often to lovingly caress Remus’s cheek—Peter’s mother has always been overly-fond of poor Moony. Remus sits next to Sirius on the floor, his knee pressed against Sirius’s thigh, warm and distracting. His cheeks are flushed, and he’s laughing at James in the way he only ever laughs when he’s drunk; like he isn’t afraid to enjoy himself.

The night drifts by in a blur of alcohol and shouting and general merriment, and by the time one thirty rolls around, James is wobbling more than pacing around the room.

"I just.. I don't know what I'm doing wrong, yknow?" 

He's entered what Sirius likes to think of as James’s nervous state, which is bound to happen if James can maintain consciousness past one in the morning. He whirls around to grip Sirius's shirt collar, eyes huge behind his glasses. Sirius resists the urge to laugh. "I adore her, I really do. I think she's fantastic. Doesn't take shit from anyone, yknow? Not afraid to speak her mind. And she's brilliant, and funny.."

Peter's head bobs, though whether it's due to sympathy or sleepiness, Sirius can't tell. Next to him, Remus' shoulders shake with suppressed laughter. 

"She is brilliant, Prongs," Sirius concedes, patting James consolingly on the shoulder. "And funny, and fantastic." They've been here before, countless times. Sirius happens to like Lily quite a lot, though far more than Lily likes him, he’s sure—and so it is Remus that James seeks out in such difficult times.

James turns to Remus, who's eyes are crinkled at the corners. 

"Moony," James begins, with the air of a man about to beg for a stolen family heirloom, or perhaps his life. "She likes you. Help me."

Remus extends his hands out benevolently towards the ground in front of him, and James wobbles onto his knees.

"Sit, my child. Let me teach you my ways."

 

****

 

It’s around three when they realize that Peter had, without them noticing, fallen over onto the bed, utterly unconscious. Next to him, James is passed out, a tangle of sleeping limbs.

"Fag?" Remus murmurs next to him, and Sirius nods, shifting through his pockets and pulling out a lighter. He follows Remus outside onto the steps of their motel, bare-foot, where the pair of them sit. 

 

This is their ritual. 

 

When the pair of them were younger, they smoked—too many, and too often. They’ve never exactly quit, but they made an agreement about two years ago, and from then on, Remus kept their cigarettes, and Sirius kept their lighter.

It’s a small thing Sirius shares only with Remus—a thing that has not gone unnoticed by James, who tends to grumble “Cancer-sticks,” and “Bloody idiots,” whenever he sees them at it—but Sirius doesn’t care. He shares whole worlds with James—his fears, his secrets, his lies—but here is a part of him only Remus has. It feels good.

 

Remus holds the cigarette between his lips, and Sirius reaches out to cup his hands around it, lighting it with his other hand. Remus inhales, the orange light of the cigarette blossoming across his face, eyes yellow and green and orange. The parking lot is abandoned at this time of night, quiet but for the gentle murmur of crickets nearby. The street-lamps flicker, and Remus takes another drag, the smoke unfurling from his lips slowly, rising high above them. He passes the cigarette to Sirius, who inhales. Between the alcohol, the cigarettes, and Remus, Sirius feels slow, and relaxed, and a little lost. 

“Remus,” He begins, and Remus looks at him, eyes half-lidded with drink.

“Sirius,” Remus replies, taking the cigarette.

Sirius leans back, the rough asphalt digging into the palms of his hands. He’s grasping for something, anything, to say, because the silence is too dangerous. 

“What’s going to happen to us next summer?”

Remus tilts his head at him. When he takes his next drag, the embers light up the freckles along his cheeks. His curly hair is tousled, and the crinkles of his eyes are endearing, and unbearable.

“When we graduate,” Sirius clarifies. “We’ll all go our separate ways.”

Remus hands him the cigarette, quiet for a few moments.

“Well,” He begins, thoughtful. “Even if we go to different schools all around the country, it’s not like we’ll never see each other again. Holidays, and texting, all that.” Remus looks at him. “I’m not planning on abandoning any of you, Sirius. And I can’t imagine James or Peter are planning on abandoning us either.” 

There’s a long moment then, stretching thin between them. In the absence of words, Sirius reaches out to offer Remus the cigarette, but Remus is still looking at him, and it makes Sirius stumble to a stop. It makes him _ache_.

There’s the sound of a door opening a ways down, and the pair of them startle. 

“Bed,” Sirius says, the cigarette dropping from his fingers. He’s up and walking towards the door, suddenly desperate to be somewhere else, to do something else, because this is _too dangerous_.

“Meet you inside,” Remus replies, his voice hoarse.

 

Sirius fumbles his way inside, where he considers shoving James and Peter apart and claiming a spot for himself on the already crowded bed—but it’s too much work, and it’s too obvious, so he strips down to his trousers and crawls into the empty bed. His body is exhausted, but his mind is wide-awake, and when Remus returns nearly ten minutes later, he pretends to be asleep.

There’s muttered swearing as Remus stumbles around the bathroom, brushing his teeth and dressing for bed. Sirius opens his eyes just enough to see Remus’s silhouette by the bathroom, shirtless. Sirius temporarily considers suffocating himself in his own pillow.

It’s several long, anxious minutes before the bed dips next to him with Remus’ weight. 

“Pads?” Whispers Remus, and Sirius desperately, immediately, wishes he were truly asleep. 

Yes, he thinks. This trip was a Very Bad Idea.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Go sleep with Moony, then. Two of you could finally bang it out, anyway.”

They wake early, and groggily transport their bags to the car. After much grumbling, James slides into the driver’s seat, and Remus into shot-gun. To James’ dismay, all three of his friends remain effectively unconscious for the first half-hour of their drive. 

He grumbles loudly and with great ferocity of their betrayal, as well as their general inability to be kind and decent human-beings, but everyone else is too hung-over to pay him any mind. Eventually, his boredom becomes too much, and when he spots a diner down the road, he seizes his opportunity by bribing them awake with the promise of caffeine and bacon.

“Breakfast! Wake up, you good-for-nothing—!” He declares, throwing the car into park and glaring at them all until they crawl out of the car. James has inexplicably and consistently avoided hang-overs all his life, and therefore has little patience or sympathy for those afflicted. 

 

They slouch inside, huddling together at the table nearest the bathroom––a position that proves advantageous for Peter; he doesn’t even stop to drop off his things, just heads straight for the toilet. Their waitress is a plump, middle-aged woman, with shadows beneath her eyes that suggest she’s just coming off night shift.

“Right then,” She says, without much enthusiasm. “What’ll it be?”

“Four of the, uh,” James pauses, squinting at the menu in his hand. “.. ‘Good Morning, Sunshine!’ specials, please.” He looks physically pained to have said the words. “And four coffees. And, uh, four waters, as well. Please.”

The waitress disappears, and James turns to survey the mess on his hands. 

“I can’t believe this.” He says simply.

“James,” Remus mumbles into his forearm. His face is hidden in his folded arms, so that only the top of his untidy hair is visible. “How long have we lived together? How many times have we drank together?” He tilts his head, frowning blearily. “You knew this would happen.”

“I really don’t know what you were expecting.” Sirius agrees, shielding his eyes with his hands. James imagines he hears a groan of agreement coming from the direction of the toilet.

“You lot have disappointed me since the day I met you. Honestly, it’s called _building up a tolerance._ You think you’d learn.” He runs a hand through his hair, his fingers snagging on the knots. He lowers his hand, sighing.“How late were you up last night, anyway?” 

A strange, awkward pause greet this question. Remus becomes suddenly very interested in the napkin to his left, carefully folding and unfolding it. Sirius goes still. 

“Not that late,” Sirius finally says, and James looks between the two of them, confused. “Went to bed a bit after you.”

“Ah,” James says, blinking. He shakes his head, just enough to dislodge his own thoughts and suspicions, because now is not the right time for this. “Then clearly, you are all just pathetic, and in desperate need of my herculean strength and stamina.”

“You’re what, now?” Peter coughs, materializing seemingly out of thin air next to them. Sirius scoots down the length of the bench, and Peter sits, wincing. James takes the napkin from Remus’s fingers, crinkling it at the corners. 

“Oy,” Remus grumbles. “Don’t.. That’s my..” He sighs, seemingly at a loss for words. “.. I want to say something about shared parental custody, I think.”

The three of them snort.

“Your wit and banter is above parr this morning, Remus.” James points out.

“Really, your intellect is blinding.” Adds Sirius.

“Shut up.” Remus mumbles, closing his eyes. The waitress appears, a tray balanced with coffee and water in her hands, and James deposits the napkin fondly atop Remus’s head.

 

 ***

 

Much to James’s delight, the breakfast sandwiches and coffee manage to revive Remus and Sirius (Peter is lost cause), and an hour later, James and Remus are belting out Fallout Boy enthusiastically.

Sirius, still feeling slow and cotton-mouthed after last night, tunes them all out. He spends the next hour or so staring out the window, watching the scenery change from fields and farm houses to villages, and does his best not to think about the night before. He also tries his best not think about breakfast. Awkwardness with Remus is strange to him, a thing he’s rarely experienced before. It seemed a passing thing, only related to that single question James asked—but still. It bothers Sirius, gnaws at him and forces him to scooch forward and lay his upper-body along the middle console, to talk with Remus and James, until the awkwardness is far in the distance, and Sirius doesn’t have to think of it anymore.

James twiddles the volume to an acceptable-talking level for the sole reason of bantering with Remus about the merits of pop-punk versus post-hardcore (“Break-downs,” James insists, “Are really the deciding factor, here.”), until Sirius shuts them all up by screaming Bohemian Rhapsody at the top of his lungs. By two o’ clock, that morning and the night before are far from Sirius’s mind.

 

They pull up to James’ uncle’s beach house in the late afternoon, and Sirius nearly falls face-first onto the pavement in his haste to get out of the car. He tosses his duffle bag onto the porch before making several more runs for the cooler and blankets. 

“Prongs and I are going to the store. Wanna come?” Remus asks as he hands him some pillows. 

“What’s Wormtail doing?”

“Staying here. He’s going to nap.”

“I’ll stay too then. Can you grab me some beer..” He huffs as Remus adds a fourth pillow to the pile in Sirius’s arms. “... and bacon?”

Remus grins at him. “Obviously. Anything else?”

Sirius blinks. Remus has a wicked, wicked grin.

“Jam.”

James snorts as he slams the trunk.

“You’re adorable.”

“Indeed I am.” Sirius says, carefully adjusting the small mountain of pillows in his arms. “And when your blood sugar bottoms out by lunch tomorrow and you become a mangy little git, no jam will you be receiving from me.”

“Now, now, children.” Remus soothes, making his way around to the passenger side and leaning against the car roof. “Text if you think of anything else, Pads.”

Sirius stands in the yard a moment, watching as the car struggles its way down the dirt drive-way, before heading inside. Suddenly exhausted, he collapses onto the nearest couch, its yellowed cushions coughing dust into the air. He organizes his many pillows into a sort of nest around him, wanting only to lay down for a moment. He falls asleep almost immediately. 

 

 

 

***

 

Sirius is woken from his nap by one James Potter expertly massaging drool across his forehead.

“Potter!” Sirius snarls, stalking into the kitchen to find James cowering behind Remus. Remus is laughing, clearly unconcerned by the devastation to Sirius’s delicate facial skin. 

“I will kill you.” Growls Sirius, “I will kill you, and dump your body into the ocean, and no one will _ever know_.” 

“Remus!” James counters. “And Peter! Witnesses!”

“You’re _all_ going in the ocean.” Sirius retorts. Remus shoves James backwards, towards the door.

“Prongs,” Remus says, voice solemn but eyes glittering with mirth. “Go, save yourself. Don’t forget me, James.”

“They’ll write songs about you.” James tells him, hovering by the door way.

“I want sonnets.”

“SONNETS about you.”

“There’s no use in running!” Sirius shouts after James, who’s cackling can be heard even as he dives out of the kitchen. “When I’m finished picking my teeth with Moony’s bones, I _will find you._ You can’t hide from me, Potter!”

Sirius dives, but Remus is too quick, and he slams into Remus’s arm. Down they go, a tangle of boy-limbs, laughter, and elbows.

“James!” Remus shouts around a mouthful of Sirius’s hair. “You’re a bloody traitor! Get back here!”

“I’m getting reinforcements!” James calls from somewhere inside the house.

“He’s not coming back, you know,” Sirius grunts around Remus’s elbow. “Bloody pansy.”

“JAMES!” Remus cries, laughing, as Sirius shoves his way on-top of Remus, grappling for the other boy’s wrists. Remus puts up a good fight, knees jabbing this way and that, but Sirius is quicker, pinning Remus’s wrists to the yellowing floor tiles. 

 

And then, oh, they’re here again.

 

“Got you,” Sirius breathes, but his voice is all wrong, too high and too low in all the wrong places, and Remus is looking at him like _that_ , cheeks flushed, chest heaving.

“So you have,” Says Remus quietly, and Sirius is suddenly very, very aware of Remus’s hips pressed up against his thighs, the warmth of Remus’s skin beneath his hands. He’s so aware of what he wants to do, of what he _might actually do_ , with Remus underneath him like this.

Remus licks his lips, once, quickly, and Sirius is breathing too hard, leaning too close—

“UNHAND MOONY, YOU HEATHEN!” James crows, tackling Sirius into the kitchen cupboard, a wooden spoon in-hand. Sirius bats away the spoon, relying solely on instinct to move his body for him with his mind still over-top of Remus. 

There’s a great clatter as several dishes are knocked out of place behind him, and Remus jumps to his feet, jaw tight. He laughs, but there’s no real mirth to it, and when James raps Sirius’s knuckles with the spoon and declares his victory, Sirius hardly notices.

 

They spend the rest of the evening nursing beers, and tuck-in early for bed, the four of them exhausted from the night before. James and Sirius take the queen bed, with Peter in the single bed in the next room, and Remus on the couch. They’ll switch off for the next few nights, as is only fair. Sirius finds himself both disappointed and relieved that he likely won’t be sharing sleeping quarters with Remus.

James Potter is quite possibly the worst bed-sharer in all of Western Europe. He twists and turns, hogs comforters and pillows, all that rot. More than once, James wakes just in-time to prevent Sirius rolling him straight off the bed.

“Bloody tosser,” James grumbles, only half-awake and attempting to suffocate Sirius with his own hand. Sirius avoids certain death with ease.

“Damnit, Prongs,” Sirius grumbles, pulling at the sheets. “All I ask for is a foot, maybe even two, if you’re feeling generous.”

James pushes the blankets in Sirius’s general direction. “Go sleep with Moony, then. Two of you could finally bang it out, anyway.”

Sirius freezes.

“What?”

But James only snores in response.

There is a long, meandering, and frequently inconvenient/surprising list of things James Potter pretends not to notice. James perceptiveness is not a recent development, but it’s so quiet, so subtle, that Sirius often forgets it’s even there. 

Sirius stares up at the ceiling, wondering how much James knows/pretends to know/doesn’t know at all. Of course, it could have been a sleep-addled comment, utterly meaningless. But then, James Potter is no fool, particularly when it comes to his friends.

Sirius punches his pillow into a somewhat more comfortable lump, turns onto his side, and frowns into the crook of his own elbow.

 

He guesses it’s nearly two in the morning when he stumbles out of bed for a drink of water, cringing at every creak the floor makes beneath his bare feet. He doesn’t want to wake anyone, mostly because he doesn’t want to _talk_ to anyone. 

He leans against the kitchen-counter, sipping water absently. From here, he can just see Remus’s sleeping form, curled on the couch. He’s too tall to fit comfortably, one arm dangling out of his sheet, finger-tips grazing the floor. Moonlight streams in through blinds covering the sitting-room window, painting silvery lines along Remus’s bare back. 

Sirius puts the glass in the sink and returns to bed, where he stares at the ceiling for nearly half-an-hour.

 

At some point, his restlessness becomes too much, and he decides that if he can’t sleep, then James probably shouldn’t sleep either.

“James,” He hisses, shoving at James’s shoulder. “Wake-up.”

James grumbles his protests, but Sirius ignores him.

“I need to ask you something.”

James peers at him from beneath wild bangs, concern jutting out his bottom lip and clearing his foggy eyes.

“What is it, Sirius?”

Sirius inhales deeply. He can’t bring himself to look at James, so instead he stares at the ceiling.

“What did you mean earlier, about me and Moony sharing a bed?”

James frowns.

“What?”

Sirius glances at him, feeling his cheeks warm.

“You don’t remember? You _were_ half-asleep..”

James shakes his head, the fabric of the pillow making gentle crunching noises. The moonlight has casts James’s face into a series of grey, blurred smudges.

“Sorry, mate. What did I say?”

“That..” Sirius bites down on the inside of his cheek. “That Remus and I should share a bed, so we could.. Bang out our issues, or something.”

There’s a pause. James watches him carefully, eyes clear, all trace of sleep gone. 

“I think you know what I meant, Padfoot.”

Sirius presses his lips together, turning back to the ceiling.

“Yeah,” He closes his eyes. “I think I do.”

 


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> However, let it not be said that Remus Lupin isn’t also a conniving little shit, should he have significant cause.

The beach is long, and yellow, and relatively private mid-week. The water is brilliant, just this-side of freezing, and with the temperature in the forties, Sirius is thrilled to be anywhere layers aren’t encouraged. He and James wake earlier than the the other two, and spend the morning searching for animal life (sharks, eels, a sting-ray, perhaps?) and interesting (pointy) rocks.  
  
They make their way down the cove, setting a leisurely pace after James’s flip-flop, which Sirius had set in the small stream just off the shore. This part of the beach is half sand and half rock; great cliffs rise up in jagged walls behind them, and they step carefully around huge lengths of rocky beach. In front of them, the rocky walls of the cliff dip into themselves, and the little caves between them peak Sirius’s interest.

“Let’s explore.” He says to James over his shoulder. A crab scuttles hurriedly away from the shadow of Sirius’s foot. 

“That cave?” James frowns doubtfully, both recently acquired flip flops hanging from his fingertips. Sirius ignores him, climbing over a small boulder in his path. He squints into the darkness of the cave, feeling the cool, wet air against his face. The cool pebbles and damp sand feel wonderful beneath his toes.

“Let’s come back with a flash-light. And real shoes.” James suggests, flip-flops swinging pointedly from his fingers. “No point if we can’t see anything, anyway.”

Sirius hums, turning away from the cave, towards the ocean. “Think there’d be anything cool in there?”

James arches an eyebrow. “What exactly could we find in a cave that would satisfy your idea of ‘cool?’”

Sirius shrugs. Really, he’s not sure. The water rushes in, washing over his feet and making him shiver. When it recedes, he notices it’s left behind something: a pale, soggy-looking thing. A crab skeleton. 

“Ew,” Sirius says, even as he crouches down to better inspect it. “James, get me a stick.”

“God, why?”

“Is there a person alive who can resist the temptation of poking a dead thing with a stick?”

There’s rustling, and after a moment, there’s a stick in Sirius’s hand.

Sirius balances on his haunches, James hunched low next to him. Sirius pokes it experimentally with his twig, and a bit of soggy crab collapses beneath it. He grimaces.

“Too bad Moony isn’t here. He likes this kinda shit.”

The words are out of Sirius’s mouth before he realizes why he shouldn’t be bringing Remus up at all. There’s an uncomfortable pause, long and grating, until finally, James asks, voice quiet:

“Do you want to talk about it?” 

Sirius jabs the crab with his stick, not meeting James eyes. “Not particularly.”

James stands, shoving his hands in his pockets. Sirius doesn’t need to look at James’s face to see the thoughtful tilt of his head, the set to his jaw. He _knows_ James. He knows that James would talk with him about this thing, if Sirius wanted—and for now, it’s enough.

If Sirius is honest with himself, James was the first real friend Sirius ever had. 

He too stands, hands burying themselves in his pockets; James’ reflection, his mirror image, always.  

“Thanks, though.” 

James turns, a small smile on his lips.

“No problem, Pads.”

Sirius stretches, the popping in his joints easing the silence between them.

“Up for a swim?”

 

***

 

The water is brilliant, and Sirius nearly drowns himself in his enthusiasm for it. The taste of salt in his mouth, the scent of it, is utterly invigorating. The cold is enough to wake him up, to haul him out of this strange daze he’s been in since last night, and it’s such a relief to shout and splash and _be loud._ He dives beneath the surface, combing the sand for shells and little fish, grabbing James’s feet. James aims a kick for him that might’ve broken his nose if he hadn’t been paying attention, then pulls him up by his armpits, swearing. 

“They’re here!” James points out over the ocean noise sometime later, indicating Remus and Peter’s approaching silhouettes. They’re balancing the cooler between them, towels draped over their shoulders.

“About time!” Sirius shouts, gesturing wildly to get their attention. Remus waves a hand in response.

Together, they crash back to shore, where Peter and Remus are laying towels across the sand. James makes a bee-line for the cooler.

Remus, to Sirius’s slight disappointment, is fully-clothed. He has on a light brown t-shirt, some band name sprayed across its center, and rolled-up jeans. His cheeks are flushed with the effort of transporting the cooler and the unbearable heat.

“Where’s your swimsuit?” Demands Sirius, pushing his streaming hair away from his face. 

“It’s far too early in the day to subject myself to hypothermia, Padfoot.”

“It’s eleven in the morning!” In truth, Sirius has no idea what time it is, but this particular time seems to strengthen his case. “What more can you hope for?”

“I can hope for more than sub-zero temperatures.”

An undignified huff is out of Sirius’s mouth before he can stop it. He crosses his arms, frowning. 

“But you’re still going in, right?”

Remus looks up, expression odd. He smiles crookedly at Sirius.

“Yeah, of course.”

“I’ll be in in a minute.” Peter says from the ground, rooting through his beach bag. Remus settles on the sand next to him, a book in hand, hair touseled and still smiling that crooked smile. Sirius’s stomach flip-flops its way up his throat.

“A book?” James groans. He reaches out a hand as if to snatch it away, but Remus holds it out of his reach.

“Yes, James, a book. Literature. Perhaps you’ve heard of such things.” Remus looks almost bored. “Make you smarter, broaden your imagination, all that rot.”

James makes a disgusted face. 

“We drive three bloody days, _to a beach_ , and yet, you continue to read.” He sighs, drying his glasses on his towel. “Honestly, Remus. I try, and I try, and still nothing.”

Remus nods in sympathy. “Whatever will you do with me?”

“Nothing much, apparently. Pete, pass me my towel, would you?”

 

The next hour drifts by lazily, Sirius diving into the water whenever the heat becomes unbearable, and then returning to bake in the sun. 

“You’re already tan!” Peter accuses, nose pink, the rest of him pale as ever. There’s a glob of sunscreen near the corner of his mouth. Sirius grins at him. 

“What can I say?” Sirius peels back the top of his swimsuit, comparing his recent tan with his usual skin-tone. “Got the Black genes.” He looks up to find Remus watching him with an odd set to his mouth. Sirius feels his cheeks flush, and hurriedly, Remus looks away. 

“Don’t worry about him, Wormtail.” Remus consoles from behind his book. He recently put on some swimming trunks, though the shirt, to Sirius’s mounting frustration, stubbornly remains. “His skin will turn to leather any day now. We’ll be able package and sell him as dried fruit.”

Sirius frowns at the book in Remus’s hand. He shoots James A Look, and James raises his eyebrows in response.

“Say, Remus,” Sirius begins casually, pretending to work at a knot in his hair. “Can’t help but notice you haven’t gone swimming yet.”

“Your powers of observation are stunning.” Remus replies, his novel about an inch from his nose. James has silently crept up behind Remus, and Peter is carefully studying both of their expressions, the corner of his mouth twitching in anticipation. Sirius silently calculates how many steps it will take to get him from their current position to the water. He guesses around twelve. They can probably manage.

With a single meaningful look from James, Sirius launches forward. He grabs both of Remus’s ankles and _heaves_ upwards, James hauling Remus with his hands in his armpits. Remus yelps, and then squawks, and Sirius quickly steps backwards, James following him. Together, they manage to awkwardly cart the squirming, bellowing Remus to the shore, and drag him down into the water between them. 

“ _YOU—”_ Remus splutters, attempting to break away to get back to the shore, but James and Sirius both have an arm somewhere around him, and he’s effectively trapped. Sirius is laughing almost too hard to stay standing in the knee-high water. “Why the _fuck_ —”  

Sirius is wheezing too hard to maintain his hold on Remus, and evidently so is James, because Remus manages to escape to the shore, where he stands, glaring at them, looking like the world’s soggiest, sorriest kitten. James has to lean on Sirius in order to keep from collapsing and most likely drowning in the water as Remus makes several obscene gestures at them from the shore.

“Oh my—” James gasps. “—god, did you _hear_ him? Sounded like a bloody cat.” 

Sirius has no breath for words, and only nods. Peter is howling from the shore. It may possibly just be the tears from Sirius’s eyes, but he’s fairly sure he can see actual steam radiating off the top of Remus’s head.

“Oh yes, go on, laugh at my misery.” Remus calls as he huffs his way up the beach. Sirius is back to wheezing. “Just you _wait._ ” 

Remus Lupin is, most often, the very definition of mild, sarcastic, and unshakeable. So rare is it to truly irritate him, or more specifically, to _infuriate_ him, that should such an event transpire, each of them feel it is their unspoken duty to witness and commit to memory every minute detail, if only so that it may later be discussed with the general awe and appreciation such an outburst warrants.

 However, let it not be said that Remus Lupin isn’t also a conniving little shit, should he have significant cause. 

Sirius decides not to consider the sort of revenge Remus will exact upon them when they are least expecting it, and focuses instead on the way Peter is snickering manically at Remus’s approaching figure.

Remus stalks back to their towels, flipping off Peter, and begins to peel off his own soaking wet t-shirt. Sirius feels his laughter stutter in his own throat. James throws an arm around him, still snickering, and Sirius leans into him, determinedly forcing his mind, and his gaze, elsewhere.

 

***

 

The next day, the four of them head into the village for lunch. They’re served by a young blonde waitress, who smiles too brightly at Remus. He exchanges easy conversations with her, nodding and smiling his easy, Remus-y smile, and when they finish eating, Remus offers to take everyone’s cash up to the till. Having to pay by card, James goes with him.

Sirius glowers at his cup of water.

“Cheer up,” Peter says mildly, swiping some of James’s left-over chips. Sirius frowns at him around his straw.

“I _am_ cheered.”

Peter shrugs, and Sirius pushes a hand through his hair. It’s grown too-long now, so that it hangs in his eyes and tickles the back of his neck. He is constantly torn between trimming it for the sake of practicality, and keeping it long to infuriate his mother.

Really though, it’s not much of a competition.

After a few moments, James and Remus return. Remus’s cheeks are slightly pink, and James looks rather pleased with himself.

“All settled?” Peter says, standing. Remus nods, distributing the change between them. A pile of coins smaller than Sirius would like is put in-front of him.

“So, what’s the plan for tonight?” He asks, carefully sliding his change into his wallet.

“We,” Grins James, jerking his thumb over his shoulder, “Have been invited to a bonfire.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow, so sorry this took so long! September is a very busy month for me, between school, work, and the four birthdays in my family. 
> 
> Thank-you so much for reading, and I'll see you soon! :)


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sirius feels himself break apart.

James and Peter pound back shots off the kitchen counter while Remus rolls joints at the table. Sirius is still reeling from his last experience with alcohol, and apparently, Remus feels the same, because when Peter unearthed a plastic bag of dubious-looking weed from beneath the passenger seat, Remus had immediately offered to roll it for them. His fingers press and fold and pinch with precision, a practiced air about him. Sirius catches himself watching Remus absently from the doorway, realizing only when Remus looks up at him, smiling in a way that makes Sirius swallow. This new awkwardness with Remus presents itself in odd, unexpected ways, and it’s disconcerting, to be so caught-off guard by it.

  
“Seems as though I should be jealous,” Sirius jokes, throat dry. “The way you’re handling that joint.”

  
Remus smiles again, mild, eyes turns down. “Don’t worry, Sirius. I’m happy to share. James!” He calls, and James appears at Sirius’s elbow.

  
“What’s up, Moon-moon?”

  
Remus’s expression is pained; he looks as though he might comment on this new nick-name, but apparently decides against it. “Would you rather us smoke outside?” He says, indicating the joint.

  
James _hmmms_ on this for a moment.

  
“Yeah if you don’t mind.” He sways, catching Sirius’s shoulder, and Sirius raises an eyebrow at him.

 

“Already? It’s barely eight o-clock.”

  
James ignores him.

  
“Actually, hold onto it for now, Moony. We can smoke it on the way there.”

 

***

They tumble their way down the path, sand rising up to greet them and leaving whirlwinds behind them. Their laughter and and chatter are clear and warm in the cool night air, and before them, the ocean rushes across the sand, powerful and soothing all at once. Sirius has run ahead of the others, overcome with some sort of strange giddiness at being here, tonight, with these not-quite boys. These almost-men. He breathes in the ocean’s scent, sighing; longing.

  
He whirls around to look at them all. James has his arm around Remus, the joint between his fingers, and Remus is saying something to him, expression wry. Peter is on his other side, hands behind his head, looking utterly content.

  
He beams at them.

  
He is grateful.

  
“Lads,” He begins once they’ve caught up to him. Remus is watching him, mild, a bit confused. Interest peaked. Peter looks expectant, and flushed, and happy. James’s expression, Sirius is sure, mirrors his own.

  
While the pot has made him sentimental, it apparently hasn’t given him much for an improved vocabulary. Sirius realizes he’s at a loss for word, and so he throws his arms around them, pulling them in, laughing despite himself.

  
“Alright, Pads?” Remus murmurs in his ear, and a shiver runs its way down Sirius’s spine.

  
“I’m just..” He begins, mouth still working, mind still searching for words. “I’m happy.” He decides, finally. “I’m glad to be here, with you all.”

  
There’s a beat then, where Sirius feels distinctly embarrassed, and he doesn’t quite look at any of them once he’s said it. He detaches himself from their arms, inhaling deeply, letting the salty scent of the water scrub away the discomfort.

  
And then he takes off, running, tripping, his way down the sandy path.

  
“Come on, keep up!” He shouts over his shoulder; and they do, as they always have.

 

***

 

He’s not sure how it happened, losing the other three—but somehow, he’s ended up alone, on a log, in front of the bonfire. He feels fuzzy all around the edges, like the world is in slow-motion, but it isn’t uncomfortable, or worrisome; more of a fact, than anything. A beer bottle hangs loosely from his fingers, hardly-touched; it wasn’t alcohol Sirius was looking for tonight.

  
Up until recently, the night has been a haze of James arm around his shoulders, snickering; Remus’s warmth next to him, his hand around Sirius’ wrist, making Sirius’s heart unable to stay put in his chest; Remus leaning into him, laughing breathlessly, and Sirius not leaning away. He remembers their most noble quest to locate one missing Peter Pettigrew, though he is unsure if it was ultimately successful.

  
At some point, he managed to locate more pot, (from some boy in plaid, actually; nice eyes, spoke a bit too much) and he’s fairly sure he’s been on this log ever since.

  
His head bobs absently to the sounds of iPod speakers not far away, eyes heavy-lidded. The boy in plaid drifts by him, extending the joint in his hand towards Sirius. Sirius waves him off with a smile. He has a nice mouth, Sirius thinks, as the boy is swallowed by the crowd. “Moony has a nice mouth,” He muses aloud, and it’s a good feeling, to not immediately retract the thought, to not cover it up.

  
James appears suddenly in-front of him, glasses lop-sided, cheeks flushed.

  
“Hello, James!” Sirius grins up at him. James grins back.

  
“You should really just tell him,” James informs him sensibly, settling next to him on the log. “I reckon he’d be pleased, in all honestly.”

  
Sirius nods, a bit confused at James sudden appearance, but glad none-the-less. He slings an arm over James’s shoulder.

  
“James,” He begins, not certain of what to say, and James pats him on the back.

  
“I know, mate.”

 

 

Some time later—though whether it had been a few minutes or close to an hour, Sirius has no idea—the massive throng of people before him coughs out Remus and Peter. They wander towards them, Remus stumbling and grasping Peter for support. Peter has a smear of red lipstick on his cheek, and Remus looks flushed, and happy, and handsome. Sirius beams at the both of them.

  
“What’s that on your cheek, Pete?” James says, vowels slurring all around the edges. Peter rubs half-heartedly at the mark, grinning.

  
“Peter found himself a girl,” Remus smirks. His eyes are bright, the fire carving a hazy glow around him from behind. James shoots up off the log, wobbling slightly, but with an important set to his shoulders.

  
“Take me to her. I must speak with her immediately.” He instructs Peter, and despite his noises of protest, he allows James to drag him away. Remus settles next to Sirius, their shoulders pressed together.

  
“Where’ve you been all night?”

  
“I’m not quite sure, to tell you the truth.” Sirius gestures to the log. “Here, I think. Over there for a bit,” He waves a hand in a vaguely westward direction. “But mostly right here. What’ve you been up to?”

  
“Chatting Peter up, mostly. I honestly haven’t drunk that much.”

  
Sirius snorts. “Wormtail had to hold you up walking here!”

 

“I tripped!” Objects Remus. “Really! Anyway, you’re one to talk. Your eyes are all pupil at the moment.”

  
Sirius bats his eyelashes in a somewhat disturbing fashion. “Staring into my eyes, are you, Moony?”

  
Remus smiles, but Sirius notices when the other boy leans away from him. Remus stands, not looking at him, and Sirius is gripped momentarily with panic.

  
“I think I’ll go save Peter from James.” Remus says lightly, patting away invisible dirt from his trousers, and turning towards Sirius.

  
The light from the fire behind him casts Remus in deep shadow, a dark silhouette, framed by flame. The ends of his hair are lit all up in gold, his eyes flickering with light.

  
“Want to come? Or would you rather stay on your log?”

  
Sirius feels himself break apart.

  
“Yeah,” He croaks. “I’ll come.”

 

 

It takes them all of ten minutes to locate James and Peter, who have since removed themselves from the crowds and taken up camp a ways down the beach. Sirius collapses on the sand next to James, feeling as though he hasn’t taken a breath since he left the fire. James is lying flat on his back, staring up at the stars with an expression that Sirius can only think of as contentment. The sky above them is made of deep indigos and blacks, dotted with the silver of the stars.

  
“‘Lo, Prongs. Wormtail.” Remus says, sitting crossed-legged in front of them, so that his back is to the ocean. “Did you find Peter’s lady?”

  
“No,” Peter says, sounding disheartened.

  
“She seems to have slipped away, much like the slimy eel she most likely resembles.” Says James, without any real bite.

  
“She was actually quite pretty,” Remus points out, and Peter gives a mournful sigh. Sirius reaches out a hand to pat Peter’s knee consolingly.

  
“Sorry, mate. Next time, though, yeah?”

  
Peter shoots Sirius a grateful smile.

  
They sit in companionable silence, the four of them spread across the beach, looking up at the night sky. The hum of the party-goers has begun to dwindle, replaced by the gentle sigh of the tide, and the quiet breathing of four boys.

 

 

The world around Sirius begins to focus and clear, and dimly, Sirius realizes his high is fraying around the edges. He rolls onto his side to face Remus, who is historically the most likely out of all of them to have pot somewhere on his person.

  
“Do you have anymore weed? I’m practically sober.”

  
Remus shifts to look at him, shakes his head. The sun has been kind these past few days, drawing out the freckles along his cheeks and nose, enough that Sirius can see them even in the moonlight. Remus’s hand is somewhere near his thigh, and Sirius is keenly aware of it.

  
“Sorry, Padfoot. I only had some on the way here.”

  
“You can have some of my beer, mate.” James offers helpfully, but Sirius waves him off. Peter cranes his neck to look at Remus.

  
“Did you ever find that waitress, Moony?”

  
Sirius does his best to look at Remus without actually looking at him.

  
Remus shrugs. “No, I didn’t.”

  
Apparently that’s all he’s interested in saying, because he turns onto his back again, silent once more. Sirius tries not to feel too relieved.

 

The sound of the surf is hypnotic, and Sirius falls into a sort of half-sleep, occasionally brought back into consciousness by the gentle murmur of conversation between the other three. He could sleep here, he thinks. He could live here. Oh, to _live here_ , to live by the ocean; to never go back to his parents, to never have to deal with his brother or Snape or his gang.

  
“Sirius?” James murmurs, and Sirius crawls back to wakefulness. “Still with us, mate?”

  
“Yeah,” Says Sirius, forcing himself to sit up and blinking the sleep from his eyes. “What time is it?”

  
“Quarter after two,” Peter answers, the light of his phone giving his face an eerie look.

  
Remus sits up, stretching his arms over his head and revealing the pale angle of his hip, the gentle slope of his stomach. Sirius is just high-enough that he forgets for a moment not to stare.

“I think I’ll head back,” Remus says, rubbing at his eye. “I’m exhausted.” He’s quiet for a moment, and then chuckles, hand falling from his eyes to his mouth, his gaze on the ocean.

 

“Remember that time we were drunk every night for an entire week?”

 

Sirius smirks at the memory. A pack of rowdy fourteen year-olds, only just discovering alcohol. They’d been mad, and unstoppable.

  
“And now, we drink twice in three days, and you two are practically asleep.” James accuses, ever the fathomless well of energy.

 

Remus smiles. “Seems as though we’ve gotten old without me noticing.”

  
Sirius stands, though it’s not exactly by his own accord. “I’ll come with you. If I stay here, I’ll fall asleep, and I’m not idiot enough to trust you lot to wake me up.”

  
“It would be such a fitting end, for the ocean to carry you away.” James muses. “Your own mistress, taking you into her buxom, and promptly drowning you.”

  
They bid them good night, and start up to the house. Sirius’s paranoia has now reached such heights that he spends the entire walk up there debating with himself on whether or not this silence really _is_ awkward, or if only _he_ finds it awkward. For all he knows, Remus believes their silence to be comfortable, and is happy for the quiet. For all he knows, Remus is silently cursing Sirius and wishing he’d stayed on the beach.

  
Sirius, admittedly, knows very little.

  
“Have fun?” Remus finally asks him as they reach the sand-dunes, which have so far on their trip proven perilous to navigate. Sirius reaches out to help Remus up a steep section where the sand falls out from under him. He doesn’t let go of Remus’s wrist as quickly as he should.

  
“Yeah,” Sirius shrugs as they come up onto the road, and then immediately to their right, the beach-house. “Honestly, it’s a bit of a blur. But I think so.”

  
Remus nods, unlatching the gate and unearthing the key from beneath the hideous little garden gnome at the edge of the yellowed lawn. Sirius follows him inside, heart beating uncomfortably against his ribcage.

  
“Who has the bed tonight?” Remus asks, untying his shoes and placing them on the shoe rack. Sirius follows suit, shrugging.

  
“You and Pete, I think.”

  
“Ah,” Says Remus, stretching. Again. “Excellent. Might be too-late though—I think that couch may have permanently rearranged my spine.”

  
 _What the bloody fuck is with this boy and his t-shirts and his stretching?_ Sirius fumes, passing Remus to collapse onto the couch and bury his face in a pillow.

  
“Want some tea?” Remus calls from what sounds like the kitchen.

 

“Tea?” Sirius sits up to glare accusingly at where he approximates Remus to be. “Correct me if I’m wrong, but is it not three in the bloody morning?”

  
“That’s a no then?”

  
Sirius grumbles and sinks tragically further into his pillow.

  
There’s some general bustling from the kitchen—the water being poured, the clinking of a mug, the click as Remus turns on the electric kettle.

  
There’s a sudden disturbance somewhere near Sirius’s legs and Sirius peers over his shoulder to inspect it. Remus has sunk into the couch by his feet, looking tired.

  
“Water’ll take a minute to boil,” He explains, pulling his legs up onto the couch, his thighs maddeningly close to Sirius’s calves.

  
Unacceptable. This is _unacceptable_.

  
Remus peers at Sirius’s face, frowning slightly.

  
“Are you alright?”

  
Sirius nods, sitting up and scooting backwards, so that his back rests against the arm-rest.

 

“Just tired.”

  
Their legs are too close together, and Sirius can hardly stand it. He swallows and droops lower into the couch, counting the seconds between each breath, trying to return himself to normal. He’s exhausted, and at the same time, almost hyper. Apparently, Remus Lupin is the type to inspire bouts of both insanity and insomnia.

  
 _Get a hold of yourself,_ Sirius thinks. Remus is looking at him with well-masked concern, but it is there, Sirius can see it; right there, in the working of his jaw as he chews on the inside of his cheek, in the way he’s unconsciously fussing with the hem of his t-shirt.

  
“Ready to go back?” Sirius says, because it’s something to say. Remus shrugs, relaxing slightly.

  
“Not really. Are you?”

  
“No.”

  
Remus is looking at him in a way that makes Sirius feel distinctly uncomfortable, though he cannot place why. His head feels heavy atop his hand.

  
“Why’s that?” Remus prompts him.

  
“Well, for one thing, school.” Sirius says, and Remus shifts, finding a comfier position. He pulls a hand through his curly hair, which is utterly haphazard at the moment—a fact which Sirius finds rather distracting.

  
“School’s not for another month and a half, Pads.”

  
“Yes,” Sirius agrees. “But going back means we are _that much closer_.”

  
Remus gives him a wry smile. “Forgive me, but I was under the impression that you enjoyed school.”

  
“I enjoy living with you lot, and the lessons. And football.” Sirius pauses, suddenly aware of the flaw in his argument. “Alright, yes Moony, I like school. How about this then? _Snape_.”

  
Remus _ah’s_ , the corner of his mouth twitching. “Fair enough. Why else?”

  
“Oh, that’s easy. Parents.” Sirius says with practiced nonchalance, and Remus’s smirk disappears. “What about you then?”

  
Remus willingly plays along, and Sirius is glad of it.

  
“Well, I _am_ looking forward to reading without being badgered, or prodded, or thrown into the ocean.”

  
Sirius grins, and Remus throws his pillow at him. He hears the faint sound of the kettle clicking off, water fully boiled, and hopes Remus didn’t hear it.

  
“But Moony, you’re so much more _fun_ when you’re sopping wet and swearing.”

  
Remus raises an eyebrow at him; through an odd trick of the light, his cheeks look slightly pink. “ _And_ , I am excited for school. But I do like the ocean, and I like being able to just laze around and relax. It’s hard to relax when you’re constantly dreading your next shift at work.”

  
“Don’t be so dramatic. You _love_ that record store. You want to make _sweet, passionate love_ to that record store.” Sirius dodges a second pillow. “Besides, anything’s better than that ice cream parlor you worked at last summer.”

  
“Oh my god,” Remus moans. “We do not speak of that summer. You _promised_.”

  
“I don’t think I’ll ever eat another cookies ‘n cream as long as I live.”

  
“You three probably gained a good forty pounds all together.”

  
“We did not!” Sirius objects. “Anyway, any hypothetical weight we gained is entirely your fault. Got to learn to say no, Moony.”

  
Remus smiles an odd smile. “I can never say no to you, Pads.”

  
Sirius, feeling taken-aback, does his best to carefully arrange his expression into something resembling an impenetrable fortress. Remus’s mouth still has that indiscernible quality to it, a quality that Sirius is unable to place.

  
It is a strange thing, to have lived with someone for years on end, to know in which position they usually sleep, and to know their favourite method of distributing marmalade on toast, only to be confronted with an unknown; to be unfamiliar with an expression on Remus’s face is in itself so strange, that Sirius feels rather unsettled.

 

“Right,” Says Remus briskly, extricating himself from the squashy couch cushions. “Tea’s ready. Sure you don’t want any?” He’s not looking at Sirius, which is a good thing, because Sirius is fairly certain his expression is not quite as blank as he hopes. “No thanks.”

  
Remus disappears into the kitchen, and emerges hardly more than fifteen seconds later with a cup of tea in hand. He’s still not quite looking at Sirius, and for whatever reason, it’s sending Sirius into a bit of a panic. How desperately he wants Remus to stay; how terrified he is of what will happen if he does.

  
“Are you heading to bed then?”

  
“Yes, I’m exhausted.” He gives Sirius a small smile. “See you in the morning, Sirius.”

 

Sirius allows the couch to swallow him whole.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Think I’ll live?” Remus murmurs, smiling that dear, crooked smile, and something in Sirius’s chest shatters completely.

The taste of weed and alcohol in his mouth has apparently evolved to such rancid levels that, hours later, it quite literally wakes him up.

He gropes for his phone, which he finds in the crevice between the cushions, and flicks it on. Only just past five am. In the hallway, he can see James and Peter’s shoes, lying in an untidy heap by the front door. 

Sirius closes his eyes, debating whether he should attempt to fall back asleep, or go scrub this unholy taste from his mouth. He decides on the latter, stumbling his way to the bathroom and unearthing his toothbrush from his travel pack. He grimaces around his toothbrush at his reflection; he looks like complete and utter shit. 

A minute later, mouth distinctly minty and un-hungover-esque, he splashes cold water on his face. _A bit better_ , he thinks, pushing a hand through his hair. He repacks his toothbrush, intentionally forgets to replace the cap on the toothpaste in order to send James into a riot, and slumps his way back onto the couch. 

He’s half-asleep when footsteps startle him into wakefulness. He lifts his head, squinting into the darkness, and has a small heart-attack when something heavy lands atop his feet. 

He yelps, whipping his head around to see the intruder, feet trapped beneath whatever monstrosity it’s sure to be.

“Sirius,” Remus hisses at him in the dark. “I’m sorry, it’s me— _be quiet, Sirius._ ” For Sirius has now unleashed a string of incoherent swearing. 

“Jesus christ, Moony, what the bloody hell—”

“Oh, shut up.” Remus silences him in a harsh whisper. “I’m sorry, I thought you were asleep.”

“What are you doing?” Sirius gapes at him, heart still too distraught from his recent scare to begin hammering at Remus’s skin against his own.

“It seems that time away from Peter has led my ears to become unaccustomed to his snoring..” Remus tells him, burrowing downwards into the couch. “..And the floor is apparently made out of cement. So here I am.”

“James?” Suggests Sirius, though he isn’t exactly sure why. He’s slept next to Remus countless times, in the same bed, or otherwise; testing his resolve in this moment, however, feels unwise. 

“James, world-renowned blanket-stealer?” Remus mutters, tossing a blanket (which he presumably stole from Peter) over the pair of them. Sirius pulls it across his chest, wondering why he hadn’t noticed he’d been without a blanket before.

“Fair point.” He concedes. Remus’s leg are pressed up against his own. “Your feet are fucking freezing.”

“Sorry,” Remus replies, sliding his feet away from Sirius. Sirius swallows.

“So, is it safe to sleep? Or should I expect you to pounce on me in a half-hour?”

“I’ve actually planned a small sacrificial ceremony for quarter to seven.” Remus mumbles into his pillow. “Better get some rest while you can.”

Slowly, Remus’s breathing drifts into something softer. He shifts in his sleep, and beneath the blankets, Remus’s legs become tangled with Sirius’s own; calves against knees against thighs. Sirius is too exhausted to panic; instead, he watches Remus’s sleeping face, and a quiet aching unfurls inside his chest.

Slowly Remus’s gentle, sleeping sighs ease Sirius to sleep.

 

***

 

He wakes to gentle clinking noises from the kitchen and an ache in his back. He rolls onto his side, sighing, and then stretching. The early morning light streams in through the windows, turning the living room into a sepia photograph, made entirely of pale yellows and browns. He closes his eyes, shifting, and finds that his feet have space where they should not. He opens his eyes again, confused, and realizes that he has the entire couch to himself. Remus is gone. 

Biting back strange, achey disappointment, he slides his legs off the couch, stretching his arms high above his head, before fully extricating himself from his blanket prison, and wanders towards the source of the gentle clinking; the kitchen.

Remus stands at the counter, electric kettle boiling, an empty mug in front of him. He turns to Sirius, and looks surprised to see him.

“Oh, sorry Padfoot. I thought I was being quiet.”

He is struck by this Remus—this soft, domestic version of him, with his sleep-touseled hair, and the pale green of his eyes ringed by purple. Remus shifts awkwardly, and Sirius realizes he forgot to respond.

“Well. Want some tea?”

Sirius swallows. “Yeah, thanks.”

Remus pulls out a second mug from the cupboard and drops a tea-bag inside. Sirius cannot decide if it would be less awkward for him to continue standing in the door-way, or sit down at the table. He feels as though they’re hovering in some delicate place right now, in this morning sun, and he is afraid that if he moves the wrong way, or too quickly, he will shatter the ground they’re standing on.

Remus spoons sugar into both mugs—extra for Sirius—and lifts the kettle, pouring the hot water into each cup. There’s something off though, his hands must be unsteady, because he over-fills one of the mugs, and the hot water splashes onto his hand. He makes a sort of yelping noise, setting the kettle onto the counter with a loud smack, and immediately begins to inspect the burn, hissing through his teeth.

Sirius is at his side in a moment. 

“Put it under cold water.” He instructs, turning on the tap, and then Remus is there next to him, holding his hand under the tap, lips pressed together tightly.

“So hung over you can’t even pour yourself tea? You’re in a right state.” Sirius jokes. Their shoulders are pressed together, and despite the fact that there is absolutely enough room in this kitchen that this isn’t necessary, neither of them move.

“I just wanted tea.” Remus sighs a long-suffering sigh. He leans back against the tall cupboard, pulling his hand back and inspecting it. The skin between his thumb and index finger is bright red and splotchy, but he’ll be fine. 

“Let me see it,” Sirius says anyways, because he wants an excuse to touch him.

After a moment’s hesitation, Remus offers him his hand. Sirius takes it carefully, his fingers wrapped around Remus’s wrist.

His skin is soft beneath Sirius’s fingertips, and warm. The pad of his thumb is pressed against the inside of Remus’s wrist, against his pulse, his fingers gently inspecting the burn. The room is all at once too hot and stuffy, and Sirius can hardly breathe; can hardly believe what he’s doing right now, touching Remus like this, touching him in a way that friends aren’t meant to touch—but Remus is watching him, and there’s something about his eyes—

“Think I’ll live?” Remus murmurs, smiling that dear, crooked smile, and something in Sirius’s chest shatters completely.

He isn’t entirely sure how it happens, but next moment, Sirius is leaning forward, the tall cupboard behind Remus creaking as Remus leans back against it. They’re pressed together, with Remus’s leg between Sirius’s thighs, and Sirius’s heart has gone wild in his chest. They’re practically breathing the same air, noses an inch apart, and Remus is looking at him, eyes wide, and clear. He’s breathing hard—they both are, the sound of their breath loud in this tiny, morning-yellowed kitchen, and Remus’s pulse is flickering wildly beneath Sirius’s thumb.

For a long, panicked moment, Sirius isn’t quite sure what he’s doing; but then he feels Remus’s hand gently, hesitantly, curl around the back of his neck, and he feels like he can breathe again.

“Sirius?” Says Remus, quiet. His fingers curl ever-so-slightly into the hair at the back of Sirius’s neck, and Sirius shivers. “What are you doing?” 

The pale sunlight is creeping across the kitchen, lazy and gentle, but every inch of Sirius is on fire. Remus’s lips are parted, his chest rising and falling, and Sirius thinks about Remus’s skin under his mouth.

“I don’t know,” Sirius admits, voice ragged. “I don’t know.”

Remus’s breath is hot on his cheek, and their foreheads are nearly touching.

“Oh,” Remus breathes. 

And with the early morning sunlight streaming weakly through the window, and Remus’s pule flickering beneath his thumb, Sirius kisses him.

 

Remus gasps, and Sirius pulls back, panicked, because _what the hell did he just do_ , but then Remus’s hand goes from his neck, to his hair, and he presses Sirius closer. They're kissing again, Remus is _kissing_ him, and Sirius is in a dream.

“Remus—” He breathes, pulling back, and Remus’s eyes are clear, and dark, and Sirius can’t catch his breath. “What are you—is this—”

Remus kisses him by way of answering, and Sirius feels himself tumbling down, down, down. Remus tugs on the back of his neck, tugs him closer still, fingers winding through Sirius’s hair, and Sirius is lost. 

His hands find Remus’s hips, and when the other boy bites his lower lip, Sirius gasps, and then groans. He presses Remus back up against the cupboard, the old wood groaning in protest, and he drags his mouth across Remus’s jaw, down onto his neck. Remus growls, a low rumbling sound from somewhere in the back of his throat, and god, this is _unreal._ Sirius grips the back of Remus’s jumper, and then Remus’s hands are sliding up the back of Sirius’s shirt, and he’s dragging his mouth across Sirius’s jaw, and he pants hard into Remus’s neck. 

He’s hard, and Remus’s thigh is pressed up against him in the most excruciating way. His fingers dip beneath Sirius’s waistband, pressed against his hip bone, against his lower belly, and Sirius yanks at the hem of Remus’s jumper, pulling it up enough so that he can press his hands against Remus’s bare skin, so that their stomaches are touching, and Remus makes a strange, wonderful noise that sets Sirius gasping against Remus’s throat. He drags his lips and his teeth across the other boy’s neck, and Remus’s fingers are digging hard into Sirius’s shoulder, and he gasps.

“ _Sirius_.”

 And then all at once there is a great stomping, howling noise, and James’s sudden furious voice from the kitchen doorway.

“Black, I _know_ it was you who didn’t cap the toothpaste—oh, fuck.”

 

***

 

It is not a day to be leaving the beach, but it’s apparently what they’re doing, no matter how many times Sirius threatens to tie himself to the pier. 

It’s where he is now, jeans rolled up his calves and feet dangling off the edge. He takes deep, wanting breaths, the salt in his hair and his lungs. 

Remus tells him they’ll come back soon, though Sirius can’t imagine it will be soon enough.

“Sirius?” 

He turns his head, and there, walking to meet him, tawny hair in slight disarray, is Remus. 

“It’s time to go.”

Sirius feigns deafness and smiles brightly, patting the empty space next to him.

“Moony, old chap. Do come sit.”

Remus smiles and settles down next to him, dangling his own bare feet over the water. The tank-top he’s wearing reveals his collarbone, and the freckles across his shoulders, which drives Sirius to distraction, in the absolute best way. Their hands are inches apart, and Sirius wonders if something ought to be done about that. Remus glances at him, and Sirius grins. Remus’s cheeks are pink, and he looks back to the ocean, smiling.

“God, you look so self-satisfied.”

“Don’t know what you’re talking about.” Sirius replies, still grinning. He nudges Remus’s foot with his own, and Remus nudges him back, smirking at the water.

“Oy!” James’s shouts, and they both turn to look at him, standing by the house. The cooler dangles perilously from his finger-tips, and there’s a blanket wrapped around his shoulders. His cheeks are flushed, his face sweaty, and he’s glaring at them with the sort of accusatory look one gets when two of one’s best friends pair off and leave one to do all the packing.

“Alright, Prongs?” Sirius drawls.

“Oh, I’m lovely,” James responds. “Pete’s about to give himself a hernia. You’ve got the entire drive home to make eyes at each-other. Let’s get a move on.”

“The heat really does suit you, James.” Sirius calls after his retreating form. He watches James disappear into the house, the corner of his mouth twitching, and then turns back to Remus. There’s a question on his lips, the truth of it nagging him since yesterday morning.

“Can I ask you something?”

Remus glances at him, a flash of apprehension crossing his face.

“Of course, Sirius.”

Sirius leans in, suddenly breathless with curiosity.

“How long?”

Remus frowns at him, head tilted.

“How long what?”

Sirius make an exasperated noise. 

“How long have you..” He makes a vague gesture between them, and Remus _ah’s_ in understanding. He looks away from Sirius, to the ocean, a small smile on his lips.

“If I told you, you’d never let me forget it.”

“Oh please,” Sirius waves, feeling something in his chest burst with pleasure. “Can’t be as bad as me.”

Remus perks up, looking at him, really, genuinely smiling now, eyebrows raised.

“What? Really?”

Sirius feels heat rise in his chest as he realizes his mistake, and he looks away, shrugging. Remus bumps his foot against Sirius’s, playful, urging him on.

Sirius remains admirably stoic.

“Oh, go on.” Remus presses, but Sirius ignores him. “What did it, then? What made you finally..”

Sirius glances at him out of the corner of his eye. The truth is, he has no idea.

“That white shirt of yours.” He says, finally.

“What?” Remus laughs, breathless.

“That shirt, Remus! It’s bloody torture. When you stretch—It’s too short for you. It must be done away with.” His lips are twitching now, and Remus is looking at him with the loveliest, most brilliant grin on his face.

“Mm,” Remus says, leaning forward, smirking. He’s enjoying this too much. “Is that so?”

“It is,” Sirius tells him, wrapping an arm around the other boy’s neck, fighting his own smile, and failing. Remus is laughing, and wonderful, and Sirius pulls him close by the back of his neck, grinning into their kiss. 

“Hey!” James yells from the end of the pier. “Y’know I’m happy you’ve finally sorted your shit, but perhaps you could continue in the _bloody car?”_

His anger is empty, and dear, and when Sirius and Remus flip him off, it’s in accidental and perfect unison.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, that's it! I hope you guys enjoyed it, and as always, I can't thank-you enough for reading!
> 
> As a sort of thank-you for your patience, I also uploaded another wolfstar one-shot just now, if you're interested! Also, I doodled some art for the last chapter, which can be found on my tumblr: http://accioromulus.tumblr.com/post/102625899916
> 
> Thanks again. I have a few other wolfstar AU's in mind that I hope to post sometime, so hopefully, I'll see you soon. :)


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